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CHAPTER 9

1/27/2186

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There it was.

The Migrant Fleet.

A cloudlike aggregation of fifty thousand ships drifting soundlessly through space.

Shepard's fingers on the port window flexed instinctively at the sight. Models of every ship John could ever fathom floated by. All of them old and full of character, he imagined.

To his right, Tali, who had just gotten out of her power nap, watched with a lazy eye before sighing happily at the nostalgic and homey view.

"Wow…" Is all John could say.

"Yup."

The human gave the nebulae behind the whole Flotilla a good once over.

"How long does it usually take for the traffic controllers to get us a docking cradle?"

"Really depends." She replied earnestly, "Typically ten to twenty minutes, tops."

"Not bad." He murmured. He sighed and took a good long look at Juel who stood at the far end of the room. He was conversing with some others while pointing several times to the data-pad he was holding.

"What's he talking about?" John asked.

"Reddit posts. Always reddit posts." She panned with a monotone.

John shrugged and returned his attention to the port window.

"So many ships. Really is a view." He murmured. Tali nodded slowly and took the time to appreciate the view herself.

"Yeah, I should look at it more often."

He nudged her shoulder before giving it a good pat.

"Quite an impressive home." He whispered, "You should definitely admire it more often." His eyes immediately recognized one of the Live-Ships.

"Holy damn. That's the Rayya isn't it?" He felt his breath leave him, "You grew up in that?"

"Yes. Yes I did." She said smugly while crossing her arms and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"You think we'll ever get a chance to go there?" He turned back to face the Rayya that was finally beginning to recede from view.

"Absolutely." She said with a frail laugh before stammering, "We, uh—actually have to go there and debrief my dad tomorrow. So." Her hand carefully flattened one of the creases on her veil.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"But afterward, you're going to have to give me a tour. I'd love to see what she's got inside her."

He winked but remembered she couldn't see it. Instead he placed a pointer on his visor and stabbed twice to signify his expression.

She nudged him with an elbow softly before muttering 'Bosh'tet' to his crappy innuendo.

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"What. In. Living. Hell. Is. This." The mercenary's finger jabbed repeatedly at the cool blue fish tank that lined the cabin's longest wall.

"Décor." Miranda said evenly.

"The looks of it… you're out to try and make Shepard a goddam space king." Zaeed walked down into the bedroom and guffawed at the king-sized bed and lounge. Both Garrus and Miranda watched Massani continue his aimless inspection.

"So this was supposed to be Shepard's cabin." Garrus began while he looked around himself. Every second he spent in here reminded him less of a military ship and more like a gleaming rich man's quick getaway for a one-night stand.

Zaeed was right.

Space King.

"Yes." Miranda said simply, "and I know you don't approve."

"Quite the opposite, really." Garrus replied by giving the woman a guarded smile, "If Shepard does join us, he'll deserve it—though you'll have some convincing to do." His boots scuff slowly to Shepard's desk and put a talon on the only box resting upon it.

"This is…" Garrus' talons slowly grasped the small and delicate piece, "It's Shepard's Medal of Honor."

"The original." Miranda added while walking up next to the turian.

"How?"

"It was in the ship we found Shepard in. Inside a duffel bag: only his and Tali's Star of Valor. Along with a shotgun and a bandolier of thermal heat sinks."

"You mean these?" Miranda and Garrus turn back to see that Zaeed had opened every cabinet imaginable while holding said Shotgun and bandolier in his hands.

"That's Tali's spare shotgun from the Normandy SR1." Garrus put down the medal and hurriedly approached the mercenary with his hand-drawn out to take it from him.

"Fancy piece your quarian gal had. Her modifications? Rightly done." Zaeed dropped the hefty weight into Garrus' hands.

"Indeed she did. Lost her original on Ullipses infiltrating a collector ship."

"Raiding a collector ship? That sounds like a story worth telling, that there." He gave Tali's old shotgun a nod.

"It was. I'll tell you sometime if I ever get the chance."

"Good." He nodded to Miranda to get her attention.

"You said we had a mission to get to, love?"

"It's Mrs. Lawson."

"I'll work on that."

Garrus put the shotgun and bandolier carefully back into one of Shepard's drawers.

"We're trying to get a salarian scientist in the slums. He's running a dingy clinic right in the thick of a deadly plague." Garrus explained, "Thing is, the virus only kills non-humans— Vorcha excluded. And everyone is blaming the humans. Naturally."

"Naturally." Zaeed repeated.

"And it would be understandable, Mr. Vakarian, if you abstain. Given the mission's hazards." Miranda piped with professional concern.

"Nothing a hard suit can't handle."

"Excellent. Briefing will be in fifteen minutes in the conference room. EDI is already providing us with an operation order." Miranda's heels clicked as she made her way to the elevator, "Please place everything back the way it was, Mr. Massani."

"Right away, love."

When Shepard's door closed, Garrus turned to the mercenary.

"Last I heard, Massani, she was married. I'd keep those credit-crummy hands off her."

"Ha. Comedic. Lucky bastard. Or unlucky. Whoever he is."

"Jacob."

"No way? Taylor? That ugly arse?"

"I think his skin looks better than all you pasty types."

"Ha! You an' I are gonna get along just fine, Archangel."

"I still don't understand. Why's Jacob unlucky?"

"Lesson number one, Angel: Never marry a woman who isn't willing to change her last name in the name of pride. If she can't get on two knees for you, then why in hell should you get on one for her?"

"You're assuming she doesn't give oral sex to Jacob because she didn't change her last name to his?"

Zaeed frowned. "Christ, kid."

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Three Cerberus LAVs, long since scrubbed of their telltale white-and-orange gleam, rounded the bend and merged onto a slum-choked artery of Omega's undercity.

There was no need to advertise colors here. Not out in these parts.

The hum of the engines blended with the stale reek of burnt waste and ozone. Outside, lining the street, were dozens of huddled figures camped beneath buckling scaffolds and torn tarpaulins, faces hollowed out by the ravages of addiction or starvation. Or both.

Omega's forgotten. The slum children. Some watched the convoy with a wary eye, but most didn't even bother to look. Whether that was from apathy or the lack of intellectual capacity, Garrus couldn't tell.

People talked about Omega like it was some mythic cesspit. Like they couldn't believe a place like this still existed. But it did.

Inside the lead vehicle, Garrus sat near the rear hatch, legs braced against the floor as the LAV bucked and jolted along the broken road. By Omega's standards, it was a smooth ride. They'd only bottomed out three or four times.

Zaeed sat beside him, chewing an unlit cigar like it owed him money. Jacob sat across, calm and composed, as always. Tense though in that Cerberus kind of way.

Flanking them were six Cerberus operators. A local garrison. Folks that were intimately familiar with the rag-and-tag of the Terminus.

None of them were talking. Which Garrus appreciated.

They took another tight turn onto a road smeared with something that could only be described as mud before passing by a side street half-swallowed by shadow.

That's when he saw it.

A cluster of Blue Suns (batarians, naturally) had someone pinned to the ground. A naked salarian. A man covered in grime and panic. The mercs weren't even hiding it. One of them held him by the throat with a boot, while another brandished red-hot poker, glowing orange at the tip. Garrus' jaw clenched when he saw the bastard swing it like a golf club across the salarian's face. Teeth flew.

But the convoy continued moving, past the alley's line of sight, severing him from the opportunity to see any more. But the muffled screams chased them for a half a block more until they too finally faded away.

Garrus didn't move. Didn't blink. Just kept staring out at the smear of privation rolling by, jaw working.

He saw things like that every day.
You either looked away or stopped pretending you could save them all.

He'd tried to make a difference. Tried to carve out some semblance of order during his time as Archangel. For a while, it even worked. Omega soon came to realize that you don't do anything that made Archangel come looking for you.

But fear was only going to last so long. When word came out Archangel was gone? It wouldn't take long for people to forget.

"Poor bastard," Zaeed said, voice like gravel under a boot.

Garrus merely kept watching the thin window slit and the streets crawling by. He wanted to go back. Wanted to tell everyone to stop the truck more out of instinct than logic. To give him the illusion that maybe there was something left in him that still flinched at sights like that.

But what would that really do? What had it ever done?

"Should we double back?"

Garrus looked up and saw Jacob waiting for an answer while giving him a sympathetic glance.

Zaeed turned his head slightly. "And do what, exactly? Shoot a dozen Blue Suns and take a half-dead salarian with us? You'll make twenty new enemies for it. And the lizard'll still be dead by morning."

A pause followed. One accompanied only by the idle hum of the engine and the din of metal.

"I spent two years trying to clean up Omega's mess. Two days in and it's as if I'd never been here."

Zaeed's reply almost sounded noncommittal. But he could tell the sight had irked the turian. For all it was worth, the merc actually felt compelled to soften the blow. "You still left one hell of a mess behind you, Archangel. Don't act like you haven't."

"I'm not acting," he said. Then he glanced down at his hands and flexed them like he could still feel the recoil of every life he'd ended. "Sometimes I think all I've done is teach monsters to hide better."

Zaeed studied him. "Ain't that the job?"

Garrus didn't answer and his gaze was cast downward.

"…Good men mean well," Garrus said finally, like the words tasted strange now. "But maybe that's never been enough."

More silence.

Zaeed leaned back with a slow sigh. "Don't get caught up in the minutiae, kid. It doesn't travel that deep."

"That's not how it's supposed to feel."

Zaeed gave a dry chuckle. "Feelings are luxuries. Expensive ones. You keep tallying up every scar and sob story, you'll never get out of bed."

"Maybe that's the problem," Garrus muttered. "You stop feeling and you start forgetting why you ever gave a damn."

Zaeed turned his head just slightly. Just enough.

"Or you never gave a damn in the first place. Saves you the mess." He let that hang in the air for a second. Zaeed supposed it could've been thematic. Given the crowd Archangel had recently found himself in, it didn't take a scientist to know he was thinking about everyone he'd been surrounded by. "...I don't fancy myself a good man, Vakarian. Don't fit the characteristic." His voice was even now, like he was telling the turian what time it was. "The way I figure it, you and I—we're not all that different. You kill for peace. I kill for profit. But we both kill, don't we?"

The expression Zaeed was on the receiving end of was hard to decipher.

The older man rose a hand, gesturing vaguely, like he was painting some kind of bigger picture in the air. "Doesn't matter where the bullet lands. You pull the trigger, and someone somewhere is burying their kid. That's the business we're in. You just like to dress yours up with a cause."

A long pause filled the cabin. No one else spoke. Even the Cerberus grunts were dead quiet.

Garrus spoke finally, tone clipped. "What's your point?"

"We all kill to fill a hole," Zaeed said. "Hearts. Wallets. Doesn't matter."

Garrus didn't argue. He just looked back out the window.

"Didn't say I liked it." Zaeed went on, sensing where the man's thoughts were going, "But changing the fabric of life is naïve."

Something passed over Massani's face. Brief. Like a shadow of regret he didn't want to acknowledge. Then it was gone.

"But I've got bills to pay. And a bar tab."

Garrus huffed. "And cigars."

"That too."

The silence held a little longer. Garrus finally spoke, voice lower now.

"I've seen your type before. Mercs who smile until the shooting starts. Then it's all shuttle doors and exit routes."

Zaeed leaned in, the tip of his unlit cigar rolling across his bottom lip like a slow draw from a venomous fang. His grin was all teeth and no warmth. "That what you think?"

"That's what I know."

"I've lived longer than most turians have dreams. Been through more wars than you've had birthdays. I didn't get this far by cutting and running, kid. I don't break contracts."

Zaeed kept chewing his unlit cigar.

Another pall of silence. Then Garrus handed him a narrowed glare.

"How much did Cerberus pay you, exactly?"

Zaeed barked a laugh. "Enough to keep me in the game. Enough to deal with you." His grin widened, and the smoke in his laugh was as real as the smoke that would come out of his cigar if he lit it.

He could tell this wasn't the first time Zaeed had this conversation. He could also tell Zaeed didn't give a damn if Garrus liked him.

But he was honest. Brutally so. And in a place like Omega, honesty was worth something.

Not trust.

But something.

"Tucks," Zaeed called out suddenly, voice raising just above the ambience, "How far out?"

The man at the wheel glanced over his shoulder.

"Checkpoint's just ahead. Aria's men have the route sealed. You'll be dismounting there."

"Figures," Zaeed muttered. "Gonna have to play nice with the queen's dogs."

"Anyone bring bribe money?" Garrus asked.

The driver gave a small nod. "Always. Standard protocol for this route."

Garrus straightened, one hand reaching up to brace himself as the LAV rumbled into a slow deceleration.

"Then let's get to it."

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The first thing John noticed was the stares.

Never had he felt more self-conscious then he did now.

Dozens of eyes staring carefully at the human striding down proudly with Tali at his side. He didn't dare break posture or slim down or curl his back in shame. They were probably more curious than anything else. Hopefully Tali was right about wearing a realk that was affixed to the top of his head.

It still felt weird.

"So. No debriefing with anyone? Not even the Neema's captain?" John asked Tali.

"No, we get about an hour or two before we meet back with her for a formal meeting."

"Why?" John asked with a bizarre expression on his face. Shepard was usually, in regards to his military career in the Alliance, used to either: emptying his brain with AARs to his superior or typing up formal AARs within an hour of executing a mission (If he or his team wasn't part of a casualty list).

He didn't really expect it to be any different with the quarians.

To be so informal like this was uncanny.

"So we get time to see our family." She answered with a small smile.

Eventually, Tali turned the corner and urged for him to follow her down to the lower decks to begin a tour of the Neema.

"Tals, you go any faster, I'm gonna lose you." He said.

John was actually surprised he didn't have to shove his way through the crowded hallways. In spite of the long stares, people still nodded and made space for the bulkier human. John muttered thank you's for every person that took their time to maneuver around him.

Which was everyone that crossed by his path.

"No you won't, silly. Come on." She shook her head at his overtly awkward politeness.

Juel, who had been following behind both of them, shrugged apologetically to the human and strode off to the hallway on their left.

"See you Tali! Take care Shepard!" He yelled.

"See you at dinner?" Tali called out as they continued walking away from Juel.

"Absolutely!" Came Juel's disembodied voice. Tali took a right and John followed.

"So you guys got showers here?"

"Twelve. Yes. But they're in the clean rooms. There's a signup roster for it if you ever want to reserve it."

"Even if I'm a human?"

"Absolutely. They're regularly cycled after every use by opening them up to vacuum. UV Radiation from nearby stars kills anything inside."

John let out a sigh of relief. "Oh. Good."

When there was enough room, John caught up and walked to her side. "Where we going?"

"Where we're going to live. You know, my room."

"You have a roommate by any chance?"

"Nope. Well, now I do."

John could see her eyes squint from her smile.

"Good. How's the bed?"

"We'll work on that." She replied, "We'll take a look at what's on the trading deck later."

They reached the ladders that led down to the living quarters.

"Come on, huneey." She slurred with her smile. He scoffed and grabbed the ladder's footing before stepping down cautiously.

The sounds of happy laughter and soft ambience grew as they continued down.

"How many people live here?"

"Hundreds."

"You know them all?"

"Of course. We're family here, John. And you'll soon be too." They take their final step from the ladder and onto the deck flooring. John stood, ogled eyed, at the hundreds of small homes.

The first thing that came to John's mind were shanty towns dotted all over the poorest places on earth (Which, unfortunately, still existed).

But John instantly thought otherwise.

The materials the quarians used were old and worn. But unlike the shanty towns he'd just thought of, weren't amok with filth, grime, and disease. They were neat, organized, and spotless.

Elaborate clothes and curtains covered the walls and doors of every small dwelling. Hundreds of cubicles, fashioned together in clustered rectangles, stretched farther than John had expected.

But that wasn't all. These clustered hovels were installed with second and third stories; each with ladders or handmade stairs to reach them.

John even saw that some intuitive quarian had drilled smooth oblong shaped handles leading up to one home that reminded him of a rock climbing wall he'd used to climb on those stupid competitions back in Brazil in ICT.

"This is absolutely amazing." He breathed. She leaned into him slightly.

"I knew you'd like it." She whispered delicately.

"Though I wonder. Where is everyone? I thought it'd be more crowded."

"Working. We've all got jobs, remember? Anyone here is probably getting ready to go to sleep." She grabbed his hand and tugged for him to follow.

"Where do you live?"

"Right over here." They took the next bend and walked down until they met her cubicle.

As John had expected, it was covered in her iconic purple pattern.

He put his hands on his hips and looked at the curtain that covered her room. "Hope the neighbors are good?"

"Of course! You'll meet them later. The people above and three rooms down all have the same sleep cycle we do." She said happily.

"How'd you manage to get a bottom floor room?"

"Luck. Lots of luck. And a little pull from the captain."

He gave her a look.

"Okay, a lot of pull from the captain. She insisted that it was fair, given my pilgrimage gift."

"Oh my god. I completely forgot about that. Was it good enough?"

"Good enough? People think I'm some big-shot hero."

"Well. You are." He said with a grin.

"Aha. Yes. Of course." She chuckled before pulling the curtains to the side and stepping inside

Taking a look around her room, everything was where John expected it to be. Plain, simple, and dotted with décor that would never get in the way. A small holo frame, computer, desk, bed, and cargo box. They'd have to move some of the furniture around if he was going to sleep in here too.

"Wow. You've done yourself good here. An ottoman? For stuff? How dare you. What is this? A suite?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. It's got everything I need. I've got room to spare if you ever need to put stuff in there too."

He was already looking over her bed. "So an actual mattress huh?"

"Used to be a cot. Bought a bed instead. Haven't regretted it since."

"That's nothing to regret," John mused, "Since we spend so much time in them."

A sly smile grew and she drew the curtains to dress their room in privacy. "Mm."

"It's true." He said.

She strode calmly to him and guided him carefully onto the bed.

The twin-sized mattress could barely hold them, but it didn't matter. She ran a hand down his chest and around his thigh.

Seized of breath, John returned the favor and she let out a soft moan that couldn't have passed beyond their walls.

When his hand traveled closer to her center, she hummed her delight and the frills of her realk around her legs rumpled from his touch.
She squeaked and grasped his arm.

He pressed a little harder between her legs. The reaction he got was all the motivation he needed to continue.